


Love 101

by scoradh



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe tries his hand at hypnosis, with surprising results.</p><p>Written in May 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love 101

In one way, it all started with Me & You and Uganda and Pete's continued determination to change the world. In another way, it started with Ryan Ross being the world's biggest professional fanboy and getting his band signed by Decaydance; or it started with Brent asking the geeky kid who was a genius at instruments to fill in for Trevor; or it started the first time Spencer shared a packet of gummi worms with Brendon instead of Ryan. In fact, it had a lot of beginnings, but they all ended in one place: a fairground, with painted eggs and painted people (mainly painted as Ninja Turtles, because when Ryan got obsessed he got really obsessed, in a manner reminiscent of Othello or a Star Wars fan), in a purple tent. The tent was purple because it was Gabe's for the day. The other tents were a standard white canvas colour, so how Gabe's got his in such an eyeball-searing shade of violet was one of the many secrets he refused to share.  
  
"Are we sure we want to do this?" asked Spencer doubtfully, eyeing the sign that proclaimed 'Madame Gabriel, Master of the Inner Eye and In Your Pants: Hypnosis and Palm-Reading Galore.' It wasn't the most reassuring thing he'd seen all day, and he'd spent most of that in a small tent filled to capacity with children and more babysitters, minders and older sisters per kid than a ASPCA convention.  
  
"Dude, yes," laughed Brendon "C'mon, it's only two dollars. It's for charity." He turned shining eyes on Spencer's Doubting Thomas face. Spencer had to twist his mouth up into a disbelieving moue so that, yet again, Brendon would miss spotting what had been obvious to Ryan since about the second week they'd known Brendon: that all Brendon had to do was smile and Spencer would do whatever he asked. Ryan was the only other person who could work that angle, by using a pout instead. But whereas Ryan had long-standing best friend privileges, Brendon would press his advantage shamelessly if he knew about it, which was why it was better that he didn't.  
  
Jon didn't have the same effect on Spencer, because he didn't need Spencer the way the other two dorks did. Sometimes Spencer enjoyed spending time with Jon more than the others for that very reason, even though he felt guilty every time he analysed it. And then made it up to Ryan and Brendon by lavishing slightly sarcastic attention on them. It was a vicious circle.   
  
There was quite a line outside Gabe's mysteriously purple tent, mostly young girls in short skirts sighing about how dreamy Gabe was. Spencer couldn't exactly blame them, as he'd gone through a very well-hidden phase when he thought the exact same thing. Getting to know Gabe had abolished that entirely, but those poor girls would never have such a good reason to get over their crush.  
  
They eyed Brendon and Spencer curiously. Brendon just bounced on the balls of his feet and smiled. To their credit, none of the girls asked for a photo or an autograph - even though the whole day was about giving the fans the opportunity to mingle with the bands and watch them do idiotic things like blow eggs and paint them (Brendon) or decorate drumsticks (Spencer) or make lemonade (Jon) in the name of raising money for Uganda. Maybe they just wanted to have their fortune told more than hitting up Brendon for a signature. Knowing Gabe, this would invariably involve a tall dark stranger in their beds come midnight.  
  
Brendon was quiet as he stood in line, turning his face up to the sun. He was just like a sunflower, Spencer thought, with all the affection he never showed. Also like sunflowers, and annoying small children, Brendon was up early and drooped soon after sunset. He found it hard to adjust to touring, which was why Spencer spent hours on google looking up solutions, from melatonin to camomile tea, and holding the Red Bulls hostage so Brendon couldn't swing to the other, hyper extreme.  
  
Gabe, predictably, was swathed in gypsy prints and a pirate's worth of tacky gold jewellery. He sat in front of a table with a genuine crystal ball atop it, and his eyes brightened when Brendon dropped into the chair.  
  
"Tell me my future, oh wise one," said Brendon. "Will I be rich and famous and have a string of girls beating down my door? I know it's unlikely, but humour me."  
  
"This is beyond my capabilities," droned Gabe, in what he probably thought was a hilariously camp female voice, but which only came off as constipated. Spencer crossed his arms and turned his amusement into a scowl. It was never wise to encourage Gabe.   
  
The movement caught Gabe's eye, for he suddenly perked up. "Ooh, two for the price of one! Cross my palm with greenbacks and I'll hypnotise the both of you."  
  
"No thanks," said Spencer. "I want you to tell me my kids' names or something."  
  
"Harlot and Melody," said Gabe promptly. "Now siddown before I break both your elbows."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure that's what a gypsy would say," remarked Spencer. All the same, he sat down beside Brendon on a rickety folding chair. Just in case.  
  
"Hyum. Hmm. Om. Oceania," said Gabe. "Close your eyes, bitches."  
  
"Aren't you supposed to swing a watch?" asked Spencer.  
  
"Who's hypnotising who here?" demanded Gabe. Spencer rolled his eyes at Brendon before closing them.  
  
"You are feeling very sleepy," intoned Gabe. "So very, very sleepy. When I count backwards from three, you will be entirely under my control - stop smirking, Spencer Smith, I will cut you - and you will be open to any suggestions I plant in your mind. Three - two - one -"  
  
+++  
  
Spencer awoke feeling an unpleasant, dry-mouthed feeling that was crossways between jetlag and having a cat die on his face. He found he was upright, which he usually wasn't when he woke up - for good reasons. One of them was that it significantly decreased the chances of him walking face-first into a flap of hard canvas.  
  
"Ow," he said. Brendon slammed right into his back.  
  
Spencer fumbled around for his hand and pulled them both out of Gabe's tent, more by instinct than any real sense of direction. The sun dazzled his eyes after being inside for so long.  
  
"Spence?" Brendon's voice had that whiny, five-year-old tone to it that Spencer usually found intensely annoying and secretly adorable. "I feel funny."  
  
"Yeah, me too." Spencer wrapped his hand around Brendon's waist and Brendon put his head on Spencer's shoulder, and like that they walked past the line of girls. It had only got longer and this time, there was a wave of tittering and a flash of camera phones going off as they passed. Brendon's hand clutched at Spencer's shirt and he tucked his face in closer, until Spencer had to guide him past obstacles he couldn't see.  
  
Spencer spotted a cotton candy stand with a deep sweep of relief. Cotton candy, like Skittles and close-mouthed cheek kisses and hugs, always cheered Brendon up. Spencer ordered a large stick of it and sat Brendon down on a nearby bench to wait. Brendon made a little mewl of discomfort when Spencer was forced to let go of his hand.  
  
"Here, whiner," said Spencer, when he returned with a puff of pink cotton candy the size of his head. Brendon made pathetic 'gimme' motions, but Spencer didn't let him have it till he'd sat down and was comfortable. Brendon knew all his teasing tricks at this stage, and slid cold fingers under Spencer's shirt as he leaned in for a first bite.  
  
Spencer shook his head. "Lame." Brendon just beamed at him, mouth all sticky after just two and a half seconds. Spencer leaned forward for a mouthful and got Brendon's cheek instead.   
  
"Hey," mumbled Spencer. Brendon's hand hadn't moved from his side, and he used it to unerringly find and torture Spencer's tickle spot. Spencer nearly choked up the few strands of cotton candy he had managed to obtain.  
  
"Aww, baby," crooned Brendon. "Did you want some sugar?" He tore off a huge strip of fluff and balanced it on his tongue, before leaning forward and delivering it to Spencer's mouth. Spencer licked the grainy residue off Brendon's lips. They tasted good this way, although Spencer felt they would have tasted good anyway. A strange feeling hit him when he realised he'd never actually kissed Brendon before, but it made no sense. You kissed the people you loved, and Spencer loved Brendon.  
  
Brendon's arms came up around Spencer's neck, the cotton candy crushed between them. Brendon was so footing the bill for Spencer's ruined shirt.  
  
Brendon's finger snuck between where their lips met in a chaste and sugary kiss, laden with a streamer of cotton candy. He slipped it into Spencer's mouth, and Spencer sucked it off. When the cotton candy was all gone, he kept sucking, licking around Brendon's finger and the heady curve of his lips. Brendon sighed and stroked the back of Spencer's neck.  
  
"Hello, twitter," said a gleeful voice - Pete's? - as a flashbulb went off, blinding them both.  
  
+++  
  
All of Panic were staying in Ryan and Rick's house, because it was closer and they could carpool to the fairground. It meant that one of them had to stay sober every night, but on the other hand, it meant that three of them didn't. It clearly wasn't Jon's night on, because he kept staring at Brendon and Spencer where they were curled up on the couch, and giggling.   
  
Spencer could hear Ryan arguing with Rick in the kitchen as they made microwave popcorn. Ryan had been trying to coerce Rick into helping him paint faces since Pete had first floated the fundraising idea, but Rick had amiably but determinedly vetoed it every time Ryan brought it up. At this point, they sounded like an old married couple arguing about when the husband was going to paint the back gate for the tenth year running. The thought made Spencer smile and wonder which of the two was the wife.  
  
Brendon was all limp and woozy, the way he got when he combined pot and too much sugar. Joe's contribution to the fair had been surprisingly good and even more surprisingly pot-free cupcakes and cookies. Brendon forced Spencer buy him a whole batch from the fairground kitchen before they even made it to the selling booth. As Spencer had been carrying around a huge and ugly teddy bear wearing a bedazzled Gym Class t-shirt, which had taken Brendon seventeen goes to win at Travis' ring-toss, he gave in with a minimum of argument. In hindsight, it had been a silly idea, as Brendon had run around for three hours with the mother of all sugar highs, then crashed spectacularly. Spencer had had to carry him bodily to the car when it was time to go home.   
  
But Spencer supposed it hadn't been all bad: Brendon had licked his ear in thanks, and slipped his hand between Spencer's thighs before he fell asleep on the ride home.  
  
"What you smilin' at?" mumbled Brendon.   
  
"Just Ryan. Arguing with Rick again."  
  
Brendon beamed and Spencer's heart did that funny thing he'd long ago dismissed as a benign cardiac condition. "I love how he's, like, the only one Ryan can't beat in an argument."  
  
"Hey," said Spencer. He poked Brendon where he was soft, under his ribs. In fairness Brendon wasn't soft in many places - the combination of boundless energy and surfing made him pretty buff. A lot more buff than Spencer, for sure.  
  
"Oh, c'mon," said Brendon. "You're just a big, gooey, big marshmallow when it comes to Ryan. All he has to do is turn the googley eyes on you -"  
  
"Ryan does not have googley eyes!" protested Spencer.  
  
"Googley," maintained Brendon. "Like this." He stretched his eyelids between his index fingers and thumbs, revealing way more of his conjunctiva than Spencer ever needed to see.  
  
"Gross." Spencer pulled on Brendon's wrists - and yeah, Brendon might be buff, but Spencer had the real upper body strength in this feeble group - until he got them captive in his lap. Brendon lolled bonelessly against him, digging his chin into the tender angle between Spencer's neck and shoulders.  
  
"You guys," snorted Jon. "Seriously, what the hell?"  
  
Spencer just slit his gaze in a 'watch me not caring' expression. Brendon licked Spencer's neck. Spencer wondered if he tasted especially good today, considering that this was easily the fifth time Brendon had licked him. He also liked to pet Spencer a lot, little bitty stoking motions along Spencer's elbow or knee or especially his hair - whatever Brendon could get at. It all added up to a theory that Brendon was secretly a cannibal kitten.  
  
Spencer opened his mouth to tell Brendon so and Brendon wriggled happily and closed his mouth over Spencer's. Whatever Spencer had to say paled in comparison to Brendon's rough, warm tongue sliding along Spencer's bottom lip, over his teeth and in to meet Spencer's, flickering hesitantly. The idea that Brendon should ever kiss Spencer hesitantly was an abhorrent one to Spencer, so he grabbed Brendon by the back of his neck and the back of his jeans and tipped him sideways. Brendon actually purred at that - seriously, a kitten - or maybe it was more like a growl, because he kicked up one leg and managed to wrap it around Spencer's waist. The hard give of Brendon's ass through his jeans made Spencer a little crazy. His kissing got hard and rough in the way Hayley had always hated. Brendon just kissed back twice as hard, arching up when Spencer squeezed him and kept doing it when Spencer kept squeezing.  
  
"You guys!" shouted Jon. "Am I gonna have to get a jug of ice water?"  
  
Spencer reluctantly broke away - god, Brendon had beard burn, his beard burn, and full, glazed eyes - to snap, "What?"  
  
"It's what you throw on humping dogs," Jon explained helpfully.   
  
Spencer meant to point out that Brendon was a cannibal kitten, he really did. But Brendon let out an honest-to-god moan, the kind Spencer had only ever heard from him when Brendon brought back girls or boys on to the hotels, or in the deep airless stretches of the night, along with the quiet heavy sounds of Brendon touching himself in the bunk above Spencer's. Jon faded into a very beige and uninteresting background compared to that moan. Spencer pushed Brendon's shoulders back against the arm of the couch while Brendon's other leg crossed the small of Spencer's back; it took all of three seconds but it was three seconds away from Brendon's wet, open mouth, and three seconds too long.  
  
When Spencer popped the button on Brendon's jeans, Jon jumped up, spilling bear incautiously from his windmilling arms. "Get a room, you two! And call a doctor. Ross, Ross, your BFF is macking on our lead singer and it's creeping me out!"   
  
He disappeared into the kitchen. Spencer raised himself on his elbows. "Are you creeped out?" he whispered.  
  
"Are you macking on me?" Brendon whispered back.  
  
"Totally," said Spencer, and buried his sniggers in Brendon's throat. He could feel Brendon's laughter rippling through his skin and into Spencer's wherever they touched, which was everywhere.  
  
+++  
  
Spencer and Brendon had separate rooms in Ryan's house. Spencer couldn't remember why that was, why they weren't in the same room and the same bed, but he kissed Brendon goodnight in the white tunnel separating his room from Brendon's. They might not be in the same room, but they'd fought Jon for adjoining rooms two weeks ago. It had been a humiliating affair, climaxing in Jon somehow sitting on both their heads at once and crowing out his victory. Spencer ended up conducting a covert raid to find Jon's stash and hold it hostage. Jon folded pretty damn quickly after that, although he had said afterwards, "It's not like I would have split you guys up anyway."  
  
The chaste peck on the lips turned into two, then three, and three lingered on until Spencer pulled it together and slipped Brendon the tongue. Brendon was so much shorter than him that, when Spencer had his hands splayed on Brendon's tiny hips, it felt like he was holding Brendon up. He liked that feeling.  
  
"Mhm-hmh," said Brendon, around Spencer's lips. He pulled away with a wet sound that went right to Spencer's cock. "Sleepy-times now. We're on at nine am tomorrow, remember?"  
  
Spencer remembered, and groaned. He wasn't sure why that meant he couldn't keep kissing Brendon, but Brendon only let him have another quick (five-minute, tongue-burning) kiss before skipping off to his room and shutting the door.  
  
Spencer maybe put his ear to their shared wall as soon as he got inside, but all he heard were Brendon's rattling snores. He felt asleep to their amusical sound.  
  
+++  
  
The morning shift at the fairground was much less painful than the last two times Spencer had pulled it. Brendon didn't stop smiling at him, whether Spencer was in a position to smile back or not. He even smiled when he was blowing egg yolk out through a straw, and aside from the inherent grossness in that act Spencer's brain thought 'Brendon' and 'blow' and went to a very happy, if not very with-it, place. He just saved a little girl from putting her babysitter's eye out with a drumstick and spent an hour clenching his legs until his hard-on finally died down.  
  
Though everyone had complained about the enforced volunteering at first - and complained more when Pete sailed right on past their complaints - no one wanted to leave when their shift was over. Pete walked around in a top hat and tails combo that Spencer thought he recognised from their first turn at the VMAs, looking smug enough to usurp the Cheshire Cat. Of course, the continued presence of aimless, wandering rockstars only increased the event's popularity, even if Spencer thought he might be developing a RSI from all the autograph signing.   
  
His lot was far less onerous than Brendon's, however. Brendon bore it uncomplainingly, as he always did. He might yell for an hour if they were out of Capri Suns, but he regarded fan-work as almost a holy duty - maybe the Mission he never had. Spencer found Brendon's right hand in between random signings and started massaging his wrist, moving from pulse point to pulse point and down into the tense, thick muscles of his palms.   
  
They ended up in the Cab's tent, where a raucous puppet show took place promptly at 'around one or between midday and evening' every day. The Cab were the least organised band Spencer had ever met, probably because Spencer wasn't in it. There was no discernable plot, just Cash's puppet hitting Singer's with the occasional unintelligible war cry that was copyright Karate Kid, circa 1993. Since there were invariably a lot of small kids in the audience, they lapped it up like it was Muppet Jackass.  
  
Fortunately for Spencer's sanity, there was a beer stand in back. There was a beer stand in every tent - that was one point on which everyone, even Ashlee, had been firm, to the end of overruling Pete. Pete had got his own back by substituting tofuburgers for hamburgers. So far no one had noticed.  
  
Brendon got drunk very quickly, mainly because he was a lightweight but also because he was trying hard. When Spencer asked why, Brendon just beamed and said it was his turn sober tonight, so he was getting in all the drinking he could now. His autographs took on a Pollackian edge, but he never failed to draw (admittedly Cubist-style) flowers for each one. At last Spencer was able to start shooing people away because the show was starting. He took Brendon's right hand and rolled his beer can along Brendon's overheated fingers. Brendon just drank and laughed and drank as Spencer finished his beer and tuned out Cash's ten-decibel 'Kowabunga!'s in favour of squeezing Brendon's hand between his own, straightening and softening every bump and kink until Brendon shivered each time Spencer pressed down.  
  
By the time they'd got corn-on-the-cob from Hey Monday's fast-food booth, more cotton candy, and one of Joe's cookies - Spencer insisted on the rationing - the sky was the colour of a fresh bruise. Gabe's tent was gone, replaced by a plain white one with a chalk sign reading 'Madame Greta.' Spencer got a spooky feeling when he saw it, and hurried Brendon past. Brendon was practically comatose at that point, so it wasn't hard.  
  
There was no lazy making out that night, something about which Spencer was disproportionately regretful. There was also a faint but unmistakable odour of eggs emanating from his beloved. Spencer was sad to admit it, but there was quite a distinct possibility that Brendon had swallowed some of his prop eggs raw.  
  
Still, he was cute all sleepy and ruffled. He was also awake enough to realise Spencer was undressing him and do his utmost to make it an almost impossible task to accomplish, but when Spencer asked him rational questions all he got in reply was 'Hmm?' and 'Huh' and 'You're so pretty, Spencer Smith.' Displaying the versatility of a double-jointed octopus, Spencer divested Brendon of his Clash t-shirt and half his jeans. They got stuck around the ankles, and Spencer fell off the bed trying to pull them off.   
  
When he'd rubbed away the jolt, Brendon was curled up in the top corner of the bed, hugging a pillow. Spencer felt irrepressible forces tugging up the corner of his mouth. Brendon's toes were curled in the inside-out seams of his jeans and his turquoise boxers clung to the sculpted contours of his ass. That ass was a thing of beauty - not that Spencer ever told Brendon so; his head was big enough as it was. Spencer's fingers itched to slide under the clingy fabric, but there was no reason to strip Brendon entirely unless Spencer was going to stay around to warm him up afterwards. And he couldn't do that, because Brendon was drunk. And because they never had, before.  
  
Spencer frowned, feeling the nails of an incipient headache rake down the blackboard of his brain. _Why_ hadn't they? He wanted to, Brendon wanted to. Spencer wasn't a touchy-feely guy, but he liked touching and feeling the people he was in love with. Not necessarily even in a sexual way - he liked hugs and snuggling and being wrapped up to the neck in a duvet, limbs tangled beneath; he liked stroking hair and having his hair stroked - everything that rooted him with the person almost irretrievably, everything you were only allowed to do with the person you loved. Sure, in the past he'd always submitted to Brendon's stealth-cuddling attacks, but why not the rest?  
  
He went down to the kitchen for a drink of water before bed. He registered a low hum of voices but paused when he heard his name.  
  
"Spencer and Brendon are acting weird!" That was Jon. Spencer relaxed. Jon hadn't stopped mouthing off about some weirdness he saw between Spencer and Brendon since last night - it was clearly pot paranoia setting in.  
  
"Weirder than usual, you mean?" drawled Rick. He wasn't bothering to lower his voice. "What with the tiptoeing around each other like two middle-schoolers with a crush -"  
  
"No, I've seen it too," said Ryan, and he sounded _worried_. At least, as worried as you could sound when your voice had one unvarying pitch. "I mean, were they - making out in the Cab puppet show?"  
  
"No," sighed Jon, "that was just Spencer feeling Brendon up."  
  
"You guys," said Rick, nasal the way he only was when heartily amused. "Do you need the birds and the bees talk? Leave them alone. They'll figure it out. They'll google shit."  
  
"I'm not worried about Spencer's proficiency at anal sex," said Ryan, and Jon had to be pretty bummed if he didn't pounce on that perfect opening. "It's just, why now? Oh - hey Spence."  
  
"Hey, guys." Spencer had his poker face on, as unreadable as the Sphinx's autobiography. But he reached into the fridge and took a long pull of Ryan's imported guava juice, just to make a point.  
  
+++  
  
Spencer didn't have a shift the next day, but he went along anyway. Brendon was driving and Ryan called shotgun before Spencer was even awake, which was kind of unfair. Jon claimed the seat behind Brendon's, so Spencer couldn't even thread his fingers through the little heat curls on Brendon's neck or knee the back of his seat at red lights.  
  
Brendon still had egg duty to complete, so Spencer went and sat in the Butcher's tent. The Butcher had gone all out for this, firing hundreds of clay teddy bears that the kids could paint. He encouraged them to be as psychedelic as possible, so that all the bears left the tent looking like Barney on LSD. Butcher took pity on Spencer, who felt ridiculously woebegone without five-minute doses of Brendon's smile, and let him have a bear. Spencer painted it aqua, in honour of Brendon's favourite underpants, and daubed a wobbly red heart on its tummy. It was the most normal-looking bear of the batch, but the Butcher still rolled his eyes when he saw it and clapped Spencer on the back like he'd lost a race.  
  
To pass the rest of the time till he could legitimately go to Brendon's tent and set him free, Spencer made a booking at one of Ryan's favourite restaurants, where all the menus were in French and the wait staff spoke nothing but Bulgarian. He and Ryan had double dated there years ago. Spencer remembered stained-glass lanterns and ivy-covered nooks and ironmongery posing as furniture. Hayley and Ryan both claimed it was the ultimate in romance. Brendon didn't really like dining anywhere he couldn't use his fingers, but Spencer made the call anyway.  
  
When he pushed past the flap of Brendon's tent - counting to twenty first and trying to look nonchalant - Brendon's pout turned upside down. A dozen eggs suffered a messy fate as Brendon leaped over the table and into Spencer's arms.   
  
"I thought you'd abandoned me," he accused. It lacked any heat, considering the way one of his hands had found its way familiarly to Spencer's back pocket. A dozen things leapt into Spencer's head as a reply. The usual snark - "I tried my best" - turned into "I tried my best to stay away." He could have come back with a jab about purposely mixed up train timetables and missed bus calls, but his brain had melted into pink, chocolate-flavoured mush. He smiled goofily down at Brendon, who beamed back and hugged him tight as any child.  
  
"Hey, so, my shift is over and Jon made me promise we'd come taste his wares," said Brendon. "I'm kind of afraid. I think you should taste it first."  
  
"What, so I'll die of food poisoning instead of you? That's too sweet, B."  
  
"I'll give you a totally awesome funeral," said Brendon, opening his eyes wide. It was a move he pulled in interviews and M&G to fool people into thinking he was just an adorable pint-sized pile of cuddles. The truth was a little different and, also, Spencer knew his tickle spots. Brendon screamed with laughter as Spencer's fingers unerringly sought them out and ran out of the tent, Spencer hot on his heels. Spencer caught him at Andy's pot-holder making tutorial and hoisted him over his shoulder. Brendon was breathless with giggles and heavier than Spencer expected; he staggered a little, while Brendon's fists drummed his back and he demanded, "Go faster, horsey!"  
  
Jon was wearing a dorky uniform comprising a striped apron and matching cap, but his face was anything but charming when Spencer deposited Brendon at his feet and collapsed beside him.   
  
"Give me liquid before I die," gasped Spencer. Brendon laid his head on Spencer's heaving chest, which didn't help at all with his restricted lung movements.  
  
"Here," said Jon shortly. He gave them two plastic glasses, slopping sticky liquid over their grasping fingers, and hissed, "Would you two get up? You're making a fucking spectacle."  
  
"That's what she said," said Brendon. He sat up to slurp down his lemonade in two goes, then mouthed the rim of the glass, watching sadly as Spencer took more sedate sips. When Spencer had quenched the worst of his thirst, he heaved a sigh and passed his glass over to Brendon.  
  
"What the fuck?" Jon stared at Spencer like he'd agreed to another Circus theme for their next tour. "You never share food, Spence."  
  
"Maybe your lemonade is just shit," said Spencer, more nettled than he cared to show. First talking about him behind his back, now making comments in front of Brendon - what was next, an intervention? Spencer hated to say it of anyone, but Jon really needed to cut down his consumption of marijuana. "You have customers, dickface."  
  
"Do you kiss your grandmother with that mouth?" demanded Brendon. He kicked Spencer in the shins, which was a typically Brendonesque way of expressing gratitude.   
  
"No," growled Spencer, "just you." He knocked the glass out of Brendon's hand - "Hey, I wasn't finished!" - and fastened his mouth over the jumping pulse in Brendon's neck. Brendon stilled immediately, his hands fluttering and landing heavy on Spencer's hair.   
  
They were just getting somewhere when Jon threw a beaker of lemonade over them.  
  
+++  
  
It took Spencer an hour in the shower before he was satisfied he'd scrubbed all the sugary residue off his skin. People paid for Jon's lemonade because it was Jon's, not because it was anything other than an undiluted diabetes bomb. Spencer would be tasting lemons for a week.  
  
He went to Brendon's door and knocked; when there was no answer, he tried the handle, only to find Brendon had locked himself in. It was no big deal - touring for eight months of the year taught them a lot of respect for time outs. But Spencer felt irrationally angry that Brendon had chosen _now_ to do it, when Ryan had driven them home at five miles an hour, casting wary looks at them in the rearview mirror all the way. Spencer was starting to think his eyeliner-wearing, crossdressing-dabbling, 'I refuse to ascribe to sexual labels' best friend might actually be homophobic. As for Jon...  
  
Spencer sent Brendon a text with the time and place of the reservation and turned off his phone. He stretched out on his bed, hands tucked under his damp hair. He fell asleep before he could be bothered to dress further than a t-shirt and one sock.  
  
He woke up a few hours later, groggy and starch-mouthed. Brendon sat cross-legged on the end of his bed, head jogging in time to the music coming through his iPod earphones. Spencer remembered that he wasn't wearing pants and smothered an urge to blush. Instead, he dragged himself upright and pushed a pillow into his lap.   
  
Brendon had one hand on his ankle, tapping out the beat, and he looked up when Spencer moved. His smile was tiny, hardly more than a flicker of lips, but Spencer smiled back wide. Brendon made him want to smile all the time. That was nothing new; stopping himself from doing it was.  
  
"You look nice," said Spencer. Brendon had on a crisp, primrose-yellow button down and snug black slacks. A garish blue and pink tie emblazoned with roses lay over his shoulder, untied, because this was Brendon.   
  
"So do you," said Brendon. He ran an appraising eye up Spencer's long, splayed legs and raised an eyebrow at the pillow. "Got something you need to hide, Smith?"  
  
"I'm just protecting my maidenly virtue," said Spencer loftily, although his pulse sped up at the cocky tilt to Brendon's eyebrows. He'd seen Brendon chat people up before: it was nine-tenths charm and one-tenth utter dork, and Spencer had previously dismissed any resultant scoring as pure luck. Faced with it as a personal onslaught, Spencer was a lot less sure - except about one thing: he kind of wanted to drag Brendon down by his horrible tie and let him conduct a little sub-pillow exploratory research.  
  
"I thought I should dress up, considering the place you're taking me on our _date_." Brendon waggled his tongue. Spencer groaned and clapped his hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe that a second ago he thought this person was hot. "I - it is okay, right?" Brendon switched from arrogant to bashful in seconds, smoothing a hand uncertainly down his front. Spencer's heart fluttered hopelessly.  
  
"You look gorgeous," he whispered, crawling forward to feather a kiss on Brendon's cheek. "Let me get changed and we can head out."  
  
"Can I watch?"  
  
"Can I stop you?"  
  
Brendon put his head on one side as Spencer edged off the bed and walked to his wardrobe. He felt a little warm and nervous at the idea that Brendon was checking out his ass, which was nowhere near as fine as Brendon's own. There was a pause before Brendon said huskily, all joking evaporated, "No."  
  
The sounds of a car pulling into the drive broke the mood, especially when the driver stapled their hand to the horn. The bedsprings creaked and Brendon said, "I better let them know we're going, or they'll send out a search party. Have they been acting weird to you too?"  
  
"Totally," said Spencer fervently. He waited till Brendon was gone to dart into the bathroom, where he came all over the sink. And wiped it up with one of Jon's towels.  
  
+++  
  
Brendon played footsie with Spencer under the heavy linen tablecloth while they waited for someone to take their order. It made up for the fact that Spencer's seat was as comfortable as a throne of spikes, even though Brendon's bare toes were cold and a little sweaty against Spencer's calf. They'd nearly got thrown out of the restaurant because Brendon was wearing Vans and no socks, but it turned out the maitre d' was a fan.  
  
"What do you think of ... escargots?" asked Brendon. He dropped his foot and wrinkled his nose in concentration. Spencer toed off his dress shoes and scooped up Brendon's foot with his own. The floor was cold, but Spencer's toes were warm and, unlike Brendon's, protected with Italian silk socks. Brendon smiled and wriggled a little in his seat, but didn't look up from the menu. "Shit, man. All I recognise here are pommes de terres. That's like, fries, right?"  
  
"Potatoes," corrected Spencer.   
  
"Ooh, genius. What's a terraine, then?"  
  
Spencer shrugged. "I took Spanish, dude."  
  
Brendon rested an elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his palm, running a finger down the incomprehensible menu and mouthing the words. Spencer hadn't even opened his menu yet, content to just watch Brendon. His face was bathed in gold and red lozenges from the little lantern on the table between them; all around, darkness pressed in, swirling with the muted conversations of other diners. Spencer reached out to tuck a little flyaway piece of Brendon's hair behind his ear. Brendon smiled into his palm and, Pavlovian, Spencer smiled too.  
  
They ended up with a plate of snails (Brendon) and quail eggs (Spencer) for starters. Brendon, star of a hundred episodes of 'I dare you to eat this', chomped away manfully. Spencer tried one egg simply because it was costing him twenty dollars, but two bites were enough to make him think longingly of IHOP.  
  
Brendon caught his eye when he'd swallowed the last of his snails and patted his pursed lips with a napkin. The waiter came over to take their main course order. Spencer bumped Brendon's foot one last time with his before tucking it back in his shoe, and saying, "Just the bill, please."  
  
+++  
  
They parked a deserted drive-through and Spencer let Brendon feed him chips with ketchup-stained fingers. There was tin in the air when Brendon rolled down the windows to smoke, and he said, "We're near the sea!" A leaf of half-masticated lettuce dropped from his mouth. Spencer took it gingerly between his finger and thumb and tossed it out the window.  
  
"We're always near the sea, dumbass," he reminded Brendon. "LA is a coastal town, yeah?"  
  
"No, but I mean it's right here." Brendon dumped his unfinished cheeseburger in Spencer's lap and jumped out of the car.   
  
"Where are you going?" Spencer yelled through the open door.  
  
"To the beach!" Brendon called back, twirling with arms outstretched and limned in moonlight.  
  
"What, with the junkies and homeless people?"  
  
"Sure! We'll have a party! C'mon, Spence."  
  
Spencer grumbled as he tidied away the trash, hid their valuables under the seats and locked the door. None of that would help if an LA vigilante actually wanted to steal his car, but old habits died hard.  
  
The beach wasn't far away at all, which was fortunate: Brendon grabbed hold of Spencer's hand and nearly swung his arm out of its socket. If there were any junkies or criminals about, Brendon's hullaballoo clearly scared them off. Aside from a few tides of litter, some used syringes and foil, the beach was remarkably quiet. Brendon kicked off his shoes and nearly gave Spencer a heart attack. He made Brendon stay absolutely still until he'd scoured the area for anything that could potentially harbour HIV, and then Brendon knocked him over and pulled off his shoes and socks.   
  
"You're crazy," said Spencer feebly, crushed with the weight of Brendon on his chest. Brendon just leaped up and started tearing at his shirt buttons.   
  
"I'm going skinny-dipping," he announced brightly, jumping to shake his pants off his legs. He had on a tiny white pair of briefs, through which Spencer could clearly see a dark shadow of hair. He swallowed, feeling it stick.  
  
Brendon was ankle deep in water before he realised Spencer wasn't following. "Hey!" his voice floated in on the chilly breeze. "You coming?"  
  
"To get eaten by a shark? No thanks."  
  
Even at this distance, Spencer could see the pout. Hell, he could practically _hear_ it. "That's just cruel. Leaving me to be eaten by sharks alone. Love is, Spencer!"  
  
"Fine," huffed Spencer. He pulled his button-down straight over his head - a trick he'd learned when he started wearing them full time - and unbuckled his pants. Because they weren't skintight, they fell down immediately. His cock was maybe straining a little in his sky-blue boxers with the flying pigs all over them (a Brendon birthday gift), but he chose to ignore it.  
  
Brendon duck-dived as Spencer nerved himself up to dart into the water and emerged, dripping and with seaweed over one ear, in time to pull him in completely.  
  
"Shit, shit, cold!" gasped Spencer. Brendon wrapped his arms around Spencer and rolled them, until Spencer was goosepimpled to the eyes, hearing nothing but Brendon's breathy laughter.  
  
"See, isn't this great?"  
  
"It's _cold_!"  
  
"Aww," crooned Brendon, before planting his hand squarely on Spencer's head and dunking him. When Spencer emerged, spluttering, Brendon kissed him on the lips.  
  
"I didn't think you'd actually come in," he whispered.   
  
"You think I wouldn't save you from sharks?" retorted Spencer.  
  
"Not that fast," said Brendon. Something wide-open and guileless in his face made Spencer's heart burst with love. He pulled Brendon close to him and held him tightly. Brendon rested his hands on Spencer's hips and let him.  
  
"Hey," said Brendon, after a while, "hey, Spence, hey, are we gonna have sex in the sea?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Brendon nudged his hips against Spencer's and - _oh_. Despite the cold night air and water purling around him, Spencer felt a full-body wash of heat. Brendon was hard against him, rubbing his cock against Spencer's thigh in little stuttering gasps of movement.   
  
"I don't want our first time to be in some pollution-ridden pond," breathed Spencer, even as his hands found Brendon's ass and encouraged him in the fevered grinding.   
  
"You're such a romantic." Brendon's fingernails dug into Spencer, who moaned as he felt himself harden. He wanted nothing more than to pull Brendon's arms and legs around him, push him down in the sand and cover his flushed face with hundreds of hot kisses until they both came on each other like horny teenagers. But he hadn't been lying, so with a choked gasp he pushed Brendon away. Brendon flailed and, with typical grace, fell backwards with a flat splash.  
  
"Ow!" Brendon's pout was pronounced and irresistible. When he stood up, water flowed from the bulge in his briefs. Spencer couldn't not touch him, but he forced himself to go lightly, gently cupping Brendon's cock through the wet fabric and brushing his lips across Brendon's.   
  
"Car," he said. Brendon nodded.  
  
He wasn't quite sure how he drove home, with Brendon's hand on his thigh, bumping his wrist against Spencer's erection not-quite-accidentally. Just as Spencer tore into the driveway, Brendon nudged aside the cloth of Spencer's unbuttoned fly and gaping boxers and bent down to lick the exposed, shiny head of Spencer's cock. Spencer slammed on the brakes so hard the car stalled and his head whacked against the headrest. Brendon just smirked.  
  
Spencer was too focused on getting inside without coming - made ten times, a hundred times as difficult with Brendon's hand down his pants every step of the way, and his own need to bestow biting kisses on whatever part of Brendon was available: earlobes, mouth, neck - to notice that there were an unusual number of cars in their yard. It was only when the front door opened before they reached it that Spencer thought something might be up. The sight of Ryan, Jon, Gabe and Pete - all with sombre faces - and Rick, who looked sick with laughter, further backed up this notion.   
  
Spencer shoved Brendon behind him, acutely aware that Brendon was wearing nothing but a flimsy, wet shirt hanging off his elbows and very revealing underwear, ones that shouldn't be revealing anything to anyone but Spencer. Brendon's hands stayed where they were, conveniently covering Spencer's enormous hard-on.  
  
"Major cockblock," sighed Brendon and licked the shell of Spencer's ear. Spencer's cock jumped under his fingers.  
  
"I told you!" said Ryan hysterically. "Look what you've done, you fucking _asshole_!"   
  
Spencer frowned in surprise, but it became clear that Ryan wasn't talking to him when he turned and started beating on Gabe with his puny fists.   
  
"We need to talk, you guys," said Jon.  
  
"Sure," said Brendon lazily, one of his fingers teasing the slit of Spencer's cockhead. "We'll come down to you when we're done." Spencer couldn't muster up anything remotely that coherent, but he devoutly agreed with the sentiments expressed.   
  
"No," said Pete, uncharacteristically firm. "Now."  
  
+++  
  
Brendon and Spencer had been curled up together under the same scratchy tartan blanket when Gabe stuttered out his confession. And snapped his fingers. Spencer looked at Brendon, waiting for ... something. Brendon got off the couch slowly, walked up to Gabe and said, "Fuck. You," very clearly and distinctly before stalking off. Spencer stared after him, at the curve and flex of his ass, at the straightness of his spine under his crinkled yellow shirt. Something was supposed to change, right?  
  
"Yeah," said Gabe, and Spencer started. "You're not in love with him now. I'm really, really sorry, I mean - I didn't fucking expect it to work, okay!"  
  
"Okay," said Spencer, dazed. "I think I'll ... just go to bed."  
  
Ryan and Jon murmured their assent. They didn't even say anything about how Spencer was painfully, obviously hard, so they really must have felt sorry for him.  
  
The thing was, Spencer didn't feel sorry for himself. He thought Gabe was the bastard child of a dickhead and dumbass, but he'd thought that pretty much since the first time Gabe had opened his mouth - hotness notwithstanding. He wasn't angry. He was confused, and he was still horny as hell.  
  
Spencer tried Brendon's door, but it was locked. He'd expected that. He padded down the hall to his own room and fell backwards on his bed, trying to catch his breath. A minute later he shoved down his pants and boxers. He could still feel the ghost of Brendon's short, thick fingers around his cock. He squeezed hard, pretending it was Brendon, and breathed out harshly through his nose. He began to jack himself slowly, playing with his balls the way he liked it, the way Brendon might have done if - if this wasn't all a sham. Spencer felt a vice clench in his throat, but he ignored it. He'd been needing to get off all day. That came first.  
  
When he heard the moan, he thought nothing of it. He got really into jerking off, to the point where sounds and hearing took second place to plain touch, skin-on-skin. But when he gasped and heard a second moan at the same time, he knew it wasn't coming from him. With a grunt, he shuffled over in the bed until his ear was pressed against the wall and - yes. It was Brendon, getting off, moaning as loudly as if he wanted Spencer to hear.  
  
Spencer grew quieter after that, his stomach clenching and balls tightening every time Brendon made a desperate noise. He came before he even realised he was close, a hot gush over his fist. He touched his tongue to it, mouthing Brendon's name.  
  
Next door, Brendon came loudly, shouting something that sounded an awful lot like 'Spencer.'  
  
+++  
  
The next day, Spencer had the morning shift and Brendon the evening. No one argued when Spencer took his own car, mainly because he was up hours before them and left as soon as Ryan shuffled bleary-eyed into the kitchen. He picked up his now-dry ceramic bear from the Butcher's tent, earning another tight-lipped grin for his troubles, and drove home so fast he left scorch marks on several tricky corners.  
  
Rick was making a smoothie using the last of Ryan's guava juice when Spencer threw his keys into the glass key-bowl so hard it cracked. Rick raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Tough day at the office, honey?" he asked.  
  
"Fuck you," said Spencer. "Fuck everything."  
  
"Except Brendon, presumably," said Rick. He turned on the blender and smiled blandly at Spencer over the rattling noise. The sound of ice crunching made Spencer squinch his eyes shut. When he opened them to blessed quiet, a tall glass of guava-mango smoothie was sitting in front of him and Rick was leaning on his forearms across the breakfast bar.  
  
"Drink," said Rick, and Spencer drank. It tasted surprisingly good - nothing on Brendon's smoothies, of course, but he had insider info. "Now spill."  
  
"What? You heard everything that happened," said Spencer.  
  
"Yeah, I saw you and Brendon all over each other like a rash, and I heard Gabe saying he hypnotised you into doing it," said Rick. "How do you feel about that?"  
  
Spencer swished a mouthful of smoothie from one cheek to the other. "Disappointed," he said. Rick laughed.  
  
"You know you can't be hypnotised into loving someone, right?" he said. "You can't even hypnotise them into sleeping with you."  
  
"How do you know?" said Spencer. It wasn't quite what he'd meant to say, which was: how do you explain the last two days, then?  
  
Rick rolled his eyes. "Don't you think everyone would be hypnotising people into bed if that were the case? Don't you think I'd be taking advantage of it right now?"  
  
"Why, who are you trying to get into bed?"  
  
"No one," said Rick, eyes shifty. "Listen, the point is - people go to hypnotists to help them quit smoking, or stop biting their nails. You get where I'm going with this?"  
  
"No," said Spencer honestly.  
  
"Okay, baby steps," said Rick. "Say I wanted to quit smoking. First, I'd have to be a smoker, right?"  
  
"You are a smoker," Spencer pointed out. Rick probably did more weed than Jon.  
  
"Just - let me finish." Rick sighed. "I'd also have to want to give up smoking. Hypnotism wouldn't work on me, because I don't want to quit." At Spencer's continued blank stare, Rick said, "What I'm saying is this. All hypnosis does, for those who believe it will work in the first place, is allow them to do something they felt they couldn't do before - for whatever reason. Maybe they were scared, or didn't think they could ... or didn't think their seduction would be welcomed by one Brendon Urie who has such a major crush on you that the first time we met I asked Ryan if you were dating."  
  
"What?" Spencer pressed a hand to his head, wondering if Rick had roofied his smoothie. "Are we still talking about smoking?"  
  
Rick's cheeks went a strange shape, like he was holding in a guffaw. "Wow, I can see why you're in this position," he said. "Don't worry, huh? You'll figure it out." He clapped Spencer on the back on his way out.  
  
Spencer looked down at the ceramic bear in his hand, and up at the tin of roll papers Rick kept permanently in the fruit bowl. He began to smile.  
  
+++  
  
Spencer was sitting on Brendon's bed when Brendon stormed in, back up against the headboard and legs stretched out on the counterpane. Brendon slammed the door and leaned back against it. He started horribly when he saw Spencer.  
  
"Hi," mumbled Spencer, half asleep and nervous. All he could think was how much he loved Brendon, who was standing there in an inside-out t-shirt, dirty jeans and the grease of three days without washing in his flattened bangs.   
  
Brendon said nothing, just crawled on to the bed with a predatory air. He grabbed Spencer's face roughly and kissed him closed-mouth, clenched teeth jarring Spencer's own. Spencer did nothing, didn't so much as move, and Brendon's kiss grew gentler. His parted lips plucked at Spencer's mouth till it was warm and wet. Only then did Brendon draw back.  
  
"I feel," Brendon gritted out. He shut his eyes and banged his fist against his chest. "The same, jesus, Spence. The same as yesterday and the same as three years ago, but it's different. I can't explain it."  
  
Spencer bit his lip as he reached out to stroke Brendon's face, cupping it delicately with his hands, gliding his thumbs through the lavender stripes under his eyes. "You don't have to explain," he whispered. He stretched upwards to kiss Brendon, tongue slipping through the barrier of Brendon's scowling mouth and gentling him till he sighed and gave in. Spencer spread open palms across the strong muscles of Brendon's back, rubbing in slow circles as Brendon began to rock forwards. His hair fell across Spencer's cheek as he opened wider for Spencer's tongue, swallowing Spencer's soft moans.  
  
"This doesn't feel weird," said Brendon. He slid one hand under Spencer's t-shirt, crumpling it up under his arms.   
  
"I think we have Gabe to thank for that," said Spencer. "The awkward and awesome first date and first kisses were just awesome."  
  
Brendon went still, but he vibrated with nervous tension. "You took me out to a fancy place," he said slowly, "you took me out for chips, you went skinny-dipping with me -"  
  
"I made you this," said Spencer. He took the ceramic bear from the side table and handed it to Brendon.  
  
"Spencer _Smith_ ," breathed Brendon, as if Spencer had just handed him a Faberge egg. "You are the best boyfriend ever."  
  
It was Spencer's turn to go still. "You mean - are we dating now? Are we a couple?"  
  
"Honestly," chided Brendon, "do you think I put out for just anyone?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Brendon slapped Spencer's leg, hard, and leaned over it to place the bear carefully back on the sidetable. The rasp of his jeans-clad thigh against Spencer's hardening cock was unbearably good.   
  
Brendon put both hands on Spencer's thighs and parted them wide, before crossing his arms over his chest and pulling his t-shirt over his head. Spencer followed the escaping fabric with his hands, brushing his palms over Brendon's pebbling nipples. Brendon gasped.   
  
"You don't play fair," he accused breathlessly. Spencer couldn't reply as his mouth took the place of his hands, sucking at Brendon's right nipple and pinching the other between his fingers. Brendon sucked in a moan and arched into Spencer's mouth.  
  
"You have to stop," he pleaded.  
  
"Why?" Spencer mumbled against his chest.  
  
"Because." Brendon writhed as Spencer swapped sides, tickling the abused nipple with his tongue and scraping the wet one with his fingernails. "Because I have to show you what an awesome boyfriend I am by giving you fucking amazing head."  
  
Spencer paused. "Okay." He gave Brendon's nipple one last swipe and lay back. Brendon made to move down, but Spencer shook his head and pulled Brendon down on top of him. "Kiss first," he said. Brendon smiled widely and dipped down to catch Spencer's mouth with his own.  
  
Spencer loved blowjobs. The idea of getting a blowjob from Brendon was hot like burning, but Spencer also liked Brendon's weight on him, holding Brendon in his arms and groping his ass while Brendon's tongue pushed fiercely against his own. When he started bucking up, trying for more friction, Brendon broke the kiss and slithered down the bed. Spencer was sorry to lose his mouth, but Brendon's fingertips were cool where they brushed Spencer's overheated skin.   
  
Spencer was naked under his jeans. Brendon raised an eyebrow. "Hoping to get lucky, were you?"  
  
"Yeah." Spencer looked down at his hard, aching cock, dark and pearling at the tip, and blushed. He was so obviously hot for Brendon, but Brendon seemed delighted. He chased a drop of pre-come with his tongue, lapping it right up to the slit.   
  
Spencer groaned and fisted the sheets, counting backwards from a hundred to keep from coming there and then. When Brendon closed his lips around the head and sank down, Spencer changed it to a thousand. When Brendon's lips touched the coarse hair at the base of his cock and stayed there, Brendon's throat working frantically as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked, Spencer moved it up to a million. When Brendon's hand snuck in under his cock to tease his balls, rubbing where they were high and tight, Spencer gave up and just moaned, one hand swishing up and down Brendon's bicep. When Brendon's finger just flicked his hole, Spencer screamed and arched off the bed, coming hard and fast and thick in Brendon's mouth. Brendon drew back slightly so the last drops hit his lower lip and cheek.   
  
Spencer couldn't open his eyes for a good five minutes and when he did, Brendon was propped up on his elbow, watching him and smirking. There was come drying at the corner of his mouth - Spencer's come. Spencer kissed Brendon hot and messily, tonguing away the marks.   
  
Brendon had handily removed all his clothes while Spencer burned through the afterglow. His cock lay flat against his stomach and bounced heavily when Spencer nudged Brendon to his knees.  
  
"You gonna fuck me now?" asked Brendon, sounding nervous and excited at the same time. Spencer made a non-committal noise. Brendon dropped on to his elbows and spread his knees, displaying his ass at what Spencer privately thought was its best angle. It also made it easier for Spencer to open his ass cheeks with his fingers. Brendon had a perfect, round butt that didn't want to part, but Spencer forced his way in, digging his fingers into Brendon's flesh until he moaned and dropped down further to let his cock rub against the sheets.  
  
Spencer paused when he had Brendon's hole on display, just to appreciate it. Tiny, puckered and pink, it looked barely big enough fit Spencer's little finger, let alone his whole cock. Spencer licked his lips at the thought of shoving his way in there, filling Brendon up till he couldn't move from the thrill of it, then fucking him into the mattress. His blown-out cock gave a twitch of interest, but Spencer shook himself. Focus.  
  
He framed Brendon's hole with his thumbs and it parted reluctantly, just enough. Spencer ignored Brendon's hesistant, "Spence?" and flickered his tongue over the reddening skin. Brendon choked out a moan and Spencer allowed himself to smirk before pushing in, tasting the resistance of Brendon's muscles against the his probing tongue. He could feel the exact moment Brendon relaxed, because everything opened up around him and Brendon started humping the sheets, moaning incessantly.   
  
Spencer switched between long licks all the way down to Brendon's balls and little twisting motions into Brendon's hole. Just as Brendon started to come, Spencer slid his finger in. Brendon clamped down around it as he came, jerking haphazardly for what felt like a long time.  
  
"Jesus, Spence," said Brendon, when he got his voice back. Spencer just hummed in satisfaction and stretched out beside him, stroking Brendon's sweaty back. "C'mere." He tried to pull Spencer into a kiss, but Spencer resisted.  
  
"I just rimmed you, hello?"  
  
"I don't care," said Brendon fervently, and proceeded to tongue-fuck Spencer's mouth so vigourously that he hardened just thinking about how filthy it was and came again, riding Brendon's thigh.  
  
"You are the best," whispered Brendon, as he rubbed spunk off on the sheets. "You rimmed me."  
  
"You deep-throated me," Spencer pointed out. "Sorry, though, I should have given you some warning."  
  
"I liked you coming in my mouth," said Brendon seriously. "You can do it any time. Except when I'm eating, maybe."  
  
"Or when you're asleep?" suggested Spencer. Brendon shrugged.  
  
"I've woken up to someone fucking me before," he said. "It's kind of nice."  
  
"Okay," said Spencer, resolving to always wake Brendon up in future. He preferred his partners participatory, although he could also see why a guy might not be able to wait to get his cock inside Brendon. Spencer would, though.  
  
"You can do whatever you want to me," said Brendon quietly. "I can be a good boyfriend too."  
  
"Hey, hey." Spencer pulled him close, petting Brendon's sweaty hair. "It isn't a competition. And much as I love your mouth and your ass and want to fuck you silly, you know, I liked having you around even when I couldn't do that."  
  
"So you love me, then?" Brendon pushed his forehead against Spencer's chest as he said that, refusing to look up.  
  
"God, dumbass," said Spencer. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Yes. Motherfucking yes."  
  
"Love you too," said Brendon, almost inaudibly. His arms tightened around Spencer.  
  
They fell asleep like that, both knowing they'd be cranky and sore when they woke up, and neither caring.  
  
+++  
  
Spencer dragged Brendon out of bed on the last day of the fair with the promise of as much cotton candy as he could eat.  
  
"Until I get sick?" Brendon's eyes lit up. Spencer sighed, remembering all the times he'd held Brendon's hair back as he puked.  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
They wandered around hand-in-hand. A few people took photos, but since Brendon had linked a picture of a sleeping Spencer in his bed on Twitter, the interest seemed to have died down. Apparently it was only fascinating when you were in the closet.  
  
When Pete came bounding up to them with a determined expression, Spencer felt a premonition of doom. His hand tightened reflexively around Brendon's, and Brendon looked up from a faceful of cotton candy to give him a curious look.  
  
"Come on, you two," Pete said, "tent three."  
  
"Nuh-uh," said Brendon. "We finished our shifts yesterday."  
  
"Change of plan," said Pete, handing them each a sheaf of pamphlets. "I had a sudden inspiration last night. Don't worry, I've got Andy on the door keeping out the littlies." He darted away to holler at Cash.  
  
Brendon looked at his pamphlets and began to splutter. Spencer swore.  
  
"I'll kill that fucker," he said. "The Benefits of Safe Sex? What the fuck?"  
  
"That reminds me," said Brendon thoughtfully. "We need more condoms..."


End file.
